


They Say Love In The Dark Is Surrender

by Lady_Vibeke



Series: A Thin Red Line Between Stubborn Spirits [5]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Banter, Bisexual Power Couple, Cara is a Beskar fangirl, Confrontations, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Porn, F/M, Flirting, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Lack of Communication, Making Up, Mild Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Soft Cara Dune, Touch-Starved Din Djarin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22186876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Vibeke/pseuds/Lady_Vibeke
Summary: “Did I ruin everything?” he inquires cautiously, barely daring a glance in her direction.Cara huffs out an indulgent laugh that shines up to her eyes. She slides the towel off her shoulders, dabs it over her face and neck, then gives Din an affectionate smile.“Just my mood for a couple of days,” she concedes.Din just stands there, watches her dry herself inch by inch, hard muscles rippling under her skin. She stops when she notices him staring and Din freezes, fearing he's being inappropriate – there isno wayhe isn't being inappropriate, ogling at her like this – but then she breaks into another light laugh, and all his concern vanishes.“Stars, we areterribleat this.”“We are,” he agrees. Dealing with wanted criminals is much simpler than all of this.Cara walks to his side, nudges him with a swing of her hip.“There's definitely some work to do. I guess we'll do better with time.”“That sounds... like long-term commitment.”“Sounds like, uh?” Cara jokingly shoves him away. “Look, do us both a favour: next time you want a punch in the face just ask away instead of simmering in your own idiocy.”
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: A Thin Red Line Between Stubborn Spirits [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579576
Comments: 62
Kudos: 392





	1. They Say Love in The Dark Is-

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was turning out way too long, so I decided to split it in two. If the ending seems blunt, it's because there is another part coming soon!

Sleep is becoming a luxury for Din, these days.

After the insomnia caused by his worry about Cara, the last thing he needed was being haunted by nightmares of her and the child being taken from him in the most terrible scenarios.

As a man who has always walked alone, he's surely developing some major attachment issues, and this is going to be a problem, because one day, he doesn't know how far in the future, the child will be returned to his people to be raised as one of their own, and Cara... Cara might be here, today, rapidly recovering from her injuries, but tomorrow is an unwritten page and she doesn't come across as the type of person who likes to stick in the same place for too long – that place being an actual place or somebody's side.

Sitting on his bed, Din looks down at the helmet in his hands. Pristine clean and polished, it send him back a distorted image of a man who can barely recognise himself.

This helmet was never a burden to him. It was part of him, as much as an arm or a leg or an eye, but it's been a while since he's started asking himself if this is how he really wants to live – hiding, never showing himself to anyone, not even the ones he cares most about. It makes him ashamed to have such thoughts, and yet, under his safe disguise of honour and integrity, lies a conflicted soul. He thinks of Kaunis, whose unwavering friendship is as old as the secrecy of his face; thinks of the kid and how deeply he feels he has changed since he met this little green thing; thinks of Cara, of her blind eyes looking at him and _seeing_ him, despite everything, of the reassuring warmth of her presence next to him. Sometimes he tells himself he doesn't deserve any of this; other times he thinks he deserves _more. They_ deserve more.

He sighs at his reflection in the Beskar, wishing it was someone else, for once, disappearing under this bucket and walking out there in the dark, a shadow more than a person. He wonders how these people can love a man without a face. Today is definitely one of those times when he thinks he doesn't deserve this – any of this. People caring about him. People staying for him.

He leaves the armour when he goes downstairs for breakfast. He doesn't need it, here, and he's glad, because it never felt so heavy before.

Kaunis's dining room – one of the three – has a beautiful view on her greenhouses, something quite rare to behold on Coruscant. When Din walks in, Cara is sitting at the table with the kid on her lap, laughing at how he's struggling to hold a glass of milk into his little stubby hands.

Din's heart leaps. The old, familiar yearning rises from the folds of his soul, a claw that grabs his throat and crushes the air out of him, leaving him breathless and sore in his heart.

He can't bring himself to sit with them, so he plops down into the first chair he comes across, a few feet away, and ignores the puzzled glance Cara sends him. She fixes him for a moment, the spoon in her hand faltering half-way to the kid's open mouth. The kid look up at her in confusion, then turns to Din, tilting his head a little. Out of the corner of his eye, Din sees a tiny green hand reaching out.

“Good morning,” Cara greets.

“Good morning to you,” he greets back.

Cara's eyes flicker briefly across his helmet before she resumes feeding the child, avoiding Din's gaze a bit too pointedly.

“Looking fresh.”

“The whole armour needed some maintenance.”

The ghost of a smirk touches Cara's lips. “Did you hear that, Bean? Your dad just spent the whole night polishing his precious little armour instead of getting some well deserved sleep.”

“I didn't say that,” Din says awkwardly, earning a significant snort from Cara.

“ _Please._ You sound sluggish. You're also wearing your pants inside out.”

Din looks down and realises she's right. He makes to stand up, but she laughs at him.

“Come on, don't be ridiculous! You can fix them later. Sit down, breakfast is still warm.”

Something is off in the atmosphere. Cara is kind and seemingly at ease, but something about her gives off an air of reluctance, as if sharing the space with him is a mild inconvenience she's barely willing to tolerate.

Din would like to say something, but he keeps getting distracted by something new he notices – the white shirt she's wearing, sleeves rolled up to her elbows; the number of food stains all over the child's robe; the smudges of cream around his mouth and on Cara's cheek...

“Where is Kaunis's maid?” he asks, unable to concentrate enough to formulate anything more complex. The table is richly set and full of foods Din can't even name.

Cara shrugs. “I told her she could go. I'm not comfortable with people serving me. Bean and I have been doing just fine on our own.”

Din could stare at her feeding the kid forever. Her movements are clumsy, but heart-warmingly so, and the tenderness she's putting in them makes his stomach tingle.

“When did you come and pick him up?”

“Really?” Cara rises her brows in disbelief. “Do you think I'd just sneak into your room? He sneaked into mine. I woke up to his tiny hands poking my face.” She fondly tickles one the kid's ears. “I guess he was hungry.”

“If he'd been hungry, he would have woken _me,”_ Din observes. “I think he missed you.”

Cara stops in the middle of her tickling to bite a touched smile between her teeth.

“That was a low blow, man. A very low blow.”

“So, what did you two leave for me?” Din looks around the table, trying to decide if there is any of these elaborate dishes he can stomach, but there's very little left of the eligible options. “Not much, I see.”

“Don't look at me,” says Cara. “It's this little brat who eats like a Wookie. Here, have some of this.” She pushes a place of indiscernible meat chunks towards him. He has to stand up to reach it. “The Haroun bread is really good, too.”

Din isn't particularly hungry but he _has_ to eat, so he piles some of the meat onto a plate and adds a couple of balls of bread. They'll be cold by the time he gets them to his room, but he doesn't care.

“Have you seen Kaunis?” he inquires.

“Yuyu said the Mistress is in the greenhouse,” Cara replies. “That woman does spend an awful lot of time in there.”

It's true: Cara has been out of her bed for three days, now, and Kaunis has spent most of these three days locked up among her plants or making up excuses not to be around.

“I have a feeling she wants to leave us alone.”

Cara scoffs. “As in, alone _together?_ Why would she-”

“She knows about... you know.”

Cara feigns a confused face. “No, I don't know.”

Din can see the chuckle fighting to surface from under the act, challenging him.

“Our feelings for each other,” he mumbles, half resentful, half amused.

“Well, that is very thoughtful of her,” says Cara, taking a sip of blue milk. There's a hint of defiance in her tone Din can't quite place. She watches him, as if expecting something, then sets down her glass with a sigh.

Din is genuinely puzzled.

“I'll be in my room to eat, if you can watch him for a little longer.”

“Sure,” she replies without even looking up.

It's Din's turn to sigh. There is clearly something that needs to be discussed, here, but as of now he doesn't have the energy to face whatever conversation he's running from.

He takes his plate, leaves the room without a word.

As he walks away, he hears Cara's voice say: “Your dad is a coward, kid.”

*

When Yuyu comes to clean up the table, Cara is too immersed in her musings to notice her until the poor woman literally has to lift her arm to wipe the crumbles around it.

“I'm sorry,” Cara babbles, jumping up from her chair with the kid clutched to her chest.

“All good, all good,” Yuyu chants. “The Mistress will be waiting in the parlour whenever Miss Cara is ready.”

Cara just assumes that the parlour Yuyu has mentioned is the only one she visited so far of the seven in the mansion. She finds her way to it after a couple of wrong turns; the door is open, so she just enters and finds Kaunis sipping a purple drink by the transparent wall. The desk beside her hosts a magnificent composition of freshly cut flowers.

“Good morning, Cara,” she greets amiably.

“Hey.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“Like a rock.”

“And how's our awkward boy?”

Cara grins. “You're talking about Mando, aren't you?”

“Of course,” Kaunis grins back.

Cara really likes this woman. Her wit is as charming as her looks and she appreciates her blunt sincerity.

“He's moping in his room. I'm still not sure what is wrong with him.”

 _If only_ she knew. She thought they were finally going somewhere after their talk in her bed, but, if anything, all she's seen since then is a regression: after the initial good start, Din has grown distant, colder, somehow, and it's not like Cara isn't willing to give him space if he's having second thoughts, but she just wishes he had the decency to _tell_ her if he regrets anything he's said or done.

Kaunis waves a hand dismissively. “He's a formidable warrior, but a deplorable disaster as a romantic partner. Just give him some time, men are slow in this sort of things.”

It's reassuring to hear this from someone who knows him so well. Din has been so elusive that Cara was starting to think she did something wrong. It's hard to figure out someone's real mood without seeing their face. It's not a complaint, but _she_ doesn't have a mask to hide behind: her feelings are on display, written all over her face in big, flashy characters, and it's unfair that she's the only one so naked and exposed.

“These are yours,” Kaunis announces, pointing to a chair hosting a pile of neatly folded clothes. “Cleaned and mended. Nothing could be done about your shirt, I'm afraid.”

Cara sets the child down and lets him toddle off towards the carpet, where he finds an insane amount of colourful cushions to play with.

“I'll just get a new one,” she says to Kaunis once she's sure he can't get hurt. “Thank you.”

“Actually,” Kaunis takes her hand and leads her across the room. “I have something for you.”

In a corner, by a huge library stacked with ancient-looking books, a white sheet covers something that looks like a mannequin. After a couple of seconds of suspense, Kaunis pulls it away with a theatrical flourish, revealing something that makes Cara wince and hold her breath.

“What do you say?”

Cara is paralysed. Before her stands the most exquisite piece of metalwork she has ever seen, an armour so beautiful and shiny it looks more like a piece of jewellery rather than a military equipment.

She reaches out in awe, tracing its neat, graceful outlines with religious reverence. To a casual eye, it might appear not much different from her own armour, but the attention to every detail that has been put in this one, the quality of the material... this is top-notch stuff and only so many people will ever wear something this valuable.

“Is this Beskar?” she asks, though she already knows the answer.

Kaunis folds her arms with a self-complacent smirk.

“Uh-huh. _All_ of this,” she stresses, picking at a sleeve of the black shirt under the chest piece. “Garments included.”

Cara is speechless.

“Gorgeous craftsmanship, isn’t it? There are only a handful of people in the galaxy who can work Beskar into thread, and just three of them are skilled enough to obtain such a fine result. I hired all three to create this beauty.”

This is when Cara realises that Kaunis said she had something for _her._ This armour – this incredible, priceless piece of artwork – is for Cara.

“I can’t accept this,” she mumbles, even though every single fibre in her is vibrating with excitement.

“Sure you can. I love giving beautiful gifts to beautiful girls.”

"Kaunis, this isn’t just a gift. This is a worth a small kriffing _planet.”_

“More or less, I guess.” Kaunis gives a light shrug. “It’s been a while since I last bought a planet, I'm not sure how the market is going, these days.”

Cara is barely paying attention to her. She's still mesmerised, her eyes flickering between the bright armour and the black garments. She can picture herself with this, wearing it with pride next to Din, and it's a thought that makes her uneasy, because she can't imagine how he would react about this. Beskar isn't a Mandalorian prerogative, but it _is_ an inherent part of the Mandalorian culture, and she doesn't want to let her greed misguide her judgement.

Kaunis squeezes her shoulder, offering a sympathetic smile.

“Look, you need this. If you’d been wearing something like this, you wouldn’t have been injured. You nearly died, Cara. I’m not sure our Mando can take another blow like that.”

 _This_ is a very valid argument.

“So this is a gift for him, not for me?”

“Let’s say for both?” Kaunis pushes her forward. “Come on, put it on! It's going to look amazing on you.”

 _Yes, it is,_ Cara thinks, despite herself. There's nothing wrong in just seeing how it looks on her, right?

“I’ll just try it on,” she warns. “There’s no way I’m going to accept it.”

Kaunis turns away as Cara strips out of her clothes – an unnecessary courtesy that Cara still appreciates and which reinforces the high opinion she has of this woman. When Cara has slipped into the shirt and pants, which are heavy but incredibly comfortable, Kaunis helps her put on the rest. The final result is beyond any expectation.

Cara stares at her own reflection in the glass wall, elegant and invincible, and realises it's going to take an awful lot of willpower to let go of this beauty.

Kaunis circles around her, a hand coyly covering her mouth.

“Well well, look at you. A proper Mandalorian bride.”

Cara's stomach clenches at this comment. As flattering as it is, she wasn't psychologically ready to hear this, not with the situation with the actual Mandalorian in the picture still so annoyingly unclear.

“I was right: the design of it compliments your figure in all the right places. Just wait until he sees you like this.”

Cara shakes her head, determined not to let Kaunis's adulation buy her. “I’m not keeping it.”

“I dare you to take it off.”

Their eyes meet in the glass. Kaunis grins mischievously, making Cara grin in return, though unwillingly. It _is_ a challenging dare, so much that Cara is actually surprised she can find the guts to do the virtuous thing.

“Just help me out of this thing, please.”

Kaunis doesn't insist. She does as asked, but doesn't spare Cara from her unrelenting praise.

“I wish I had your body,” she muses as Cara slides out of the pants. Kaunis's eyes are all over her legs. “In so many senses.”

Cara laughs. All this appreciation for her legs is starting to go straight to her head. There must be something about how she looks that she evidently can't see but quite obvious to other people.

“Feel free to tell me to kriff off if I'm bothering you,” Kaunis says in a slight apologetic tone. “I mean no harm.”

Cara bites her lip.

“I really like you, Kaunis.” And it's true, she does: in other circumstances, she's pretty confident she and this woman could have had a lot of fun together, perhaps even fall in love. “Maybe if we'd met before I ran into that helmeted idiot-”

Kaunis nods with a giggle. “We could have been a killer couple.”

“In more than one way.”

When the last piece of the armour is back on the mannequin, as if Cara never wore it at all, she picks up her pile of clothes, stuff it under one arm, and collects the kid with the other. She thanks Kaunis once more, then heads for the door.

“If you ever change your mind,” Kaunis says before she leaves. “I’m still looking for my third wife.”

Cara lingers on the threshold, fighting to hold back a shit-eating chuckle.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replies, then closes the door behind herself.

They may have started off on the wrong foot, but Kaunis Novalis has really grown on her. There's no way she'll ever admit it, but she's going to miss her.

As they had down the hall, they pass the gym and Cara realises she could use blowing off some steam. She's still bitter about the armour and even more bitter about Din's incoherent behaviour. She feels good enough to run a few miles, maybe land some punches.

“What do you say, kid? You think you'll be okay if I leave you with IG for a little while?”

*

Din has no familiarity whatsoever with being in love. All his life, he's met and lost people and never once, not since his parents, he let one of them go thinking _'What am I going to do without you?'._

Then the kid came and turned every rule in Din's book upside down, and that was peculiar enough for him. What happened with Cara has been a surprise as much as a shock.

He feels stupid, roaming the halls of the mansion like a restless animal, unable to tell if he's looking for Cara or trying to avoid her. He didn't want to walk out on her like that in the morning, but the tension in the room was making him claustrophobic and his need for clarity in the end overpowered his desire to talk to her. He wouldn't be feeling half as bad about it if this hadn't been going on since she left her bed.

He didn't mean to be rude or insensitive – actually, he was trying to avoid doing any damage with his uncertainty – but Kaunis made it quite clear that he should sort out things with her before anyone got hurt.

_Hurt._

He couldn't forgive himself if he hurt Cara in any way.

Eventually, he finds her in the gym, flushed and sweaty, punching a bag like her life depends on it. The only sign that she notices his arrival is a brief hesitation. Nothing else. She doesn't stop for him, nor she bothers to acknowledge his presence. The muscles in her arms and thighs tense as he approaches, the violence of her punches intensifies. Din can't even blame her.

“I've been looking for you.”

He says it like an apology. Cara pauses, a thin lock of hair falling in the middle of her face, and gives him a pointed glare.

“Oh, have you?”

“Look, I'm-”

She slams a punch against the bag, then steps back, raising the back of her wrapped up hand to wipe her forehead. She pants, droplets of sweat rolling down her neck to disappear into her cleavage, sniffs as she turns to him.

“You’ve been different since I got out of bed.”

He accepts the reproach, though he wasn't prepared for her to be so straight-forward, but, then again, this is Cara Dune, and her straight-forwardness is one of the reasons that drew him to her in the first place.

“Have I?”

“Stop hiding behind that bucket. I’m right here, look at me!”

Din still has no idea how she does that. He wasn't even aware himself he was avoiding her look, how _she_ knows – how she _always_ knows – is a mystery. He looks up, and only reaching the tip of her nose costs him an unbearable effort.

“I said _look at me.”_

“I am-”

“No, you’re not, you giant baby.”

Din smiles to himself.

Helmet or not, eyesight or not, she can still see right through him. It’s comforting, in a way. Perhaps things are not so different from before, after all.

Cara collects a towel from the floor and drapes it across her shoulders. Her face contracts as if she's going to say something unpleasant, then relaxes, then contracts again, and relaxes again. Cara lets out a frustrated sigh.

“What kind of game are we playing, here?” she asks, sounding exhausted. She spreads her arms, looking sternly into his eyes. “You nearly get yourself and the kid killed for me.I wake up from a coma to find out you haven’t left my side in days. We cuddle up and rock ourselves and our baby to sleep like a couple of old fools. Now I’m back on my feet and it’s like I stink or something, judging by how pointedly you’ve been avoiding me.”

Din is barely listening. His brain got stuck on one single detail and won’t move on from there, no matter how he pulls or pushes.

 _Our_ baby.

To know Cara isn't in this for Din, but for both him and the child changes every perspective, ever nuance of what he thought was their relationship. He _knew_ she cares for the kid, but this... this is everything, to him. Perhaps, after all, all his fears and insecurities were unjustified.

“I'm not-”

“You're _not?_ “ she snarls angrily. “You barely looked at me this morning! You sat across a kriffing eight-foot table! Forgive me for freaking out but I’m kinda getting mixed signals, here!”

Angry and flustered. Din he's not sure she's supposed to look so beautiful while she's clearing considering ripping his head off. He needs to made amends, though he doesn't know how. He'll find a way.

“You're right.” The drop of his helmet his subtle, but enough for her to catch. “I'm sorry.”

It's not enough.

He watches the anger wash out of Cara's body, leaving only a shadow on her face and a string of frustration.

“What's going on, Din?” she asks, with a tiredness that has nothing to do with the workout she's just been through.

If Din felt stupid before, he feels like a total moron, now. For an eminent bounty hunter, he does have rather poor crisis management skills. Funny how he's known to be the cool, collected one and she the hot-blooded, impulsive one. He should have opened up to her in the first place.

“You got your sight back,” he mutters.

“Excuse me?”

“You got your sight back,” he repeats, and feels ashamed for how childish this is going to sound. “You've fully recovered. You're... independent.”

There's a parade of emotions across Cara's face. Din only catches the final one, a deep, hard scorn that hurts more than any punch.

“So _this_ is the issue?” Her arched brows furrow into a scowl. “You’re acting all mopey and dramatic because _‘Cara can see, now, she doesn’t need me any more’?”_ she says in a mocking whiny voice.

Deserved, of course, but Din hasn't changed his mind.

“You don’t.”

He didn't mean to sound so broken. He also didn't expect Cara to actually punch him in the shoulder.

“I don’t need you to _see_ for me,” she snaps. “Not the same thing as I don’t need you, period.” She clenches her hands into fists, evidently struggling with the urge to punch him again. “Why are we even talking about this?” she groans. “We were a great team _before_ I was blind, and if you think I need to be dependent on you for us to work, then I have very bad news, buddy.”

“It’s not that,” he says, a part of his mind still focused on the intriguing sound of the words _'for us to work'._

“Then what?”

“I wanted to stay grounded in case you…”

“What? Changed my mind?” Cara bares her teeth, looking around like she's searching for something else to hit in his place. “Kriff, Mando!” Her voice breaks a little. “You know, I wouldn’t be offended if this was about just you and me, but I’m _disgusted_ that you’d think I'd let _Bean_ get so attached to me only to walk out on you guys at my own convenience!”

His heart sinks and swells at the same time. He doesn't have a good grasp on this side of _feeling;_ until recently, his range of emotions was strictly limited to the minimum basics, what with his job being not exactly one of the most carefree of the galaxy. Life was easier when all he had to worry about were bounties and rivals – easier, and emptier, too. There is a lot he needs to learn and he can't do this alone: he needs someone to be patient about his mistakes, and maybe give him a healthy punch from time to time.

“Did I ruin everything?” he inquires cautiously, barely daring a glance in her direction.

Cara huffs out an indulgent laugh that shines up to her eyes. She slides the towel off her shoulders, dabs it over her face and neck, then gives Din an affectionate smile.

“Just my mood for a couple of days."

Din just stands there, watches her dry herself inch by inch, hard muscles rippling under her skin. She stops when she notices him staring and Din freezes, fearing he's being inappropriate – there is _no way_ he isn't being inappropriate, ogling at her like this – but then she breaks into another light laugh, and all his concern vanishes.

“Stars, we are _terrible_ at this.”

“We are,” he agrees. Dealing with wanted criminals is much simpler than all of this.

Cara walks to his side, nudges him with a swing of her hip.

“There's definitely some work to do. I guess we'll do better with time.”

“That sounds... like long-term commitment.”

“Sounds like, uh?” Cara playfully shoves him away. “Look, do us both a favour: next time you want a punch in the face just ask away instead of simmering in your own idiocy.”

Din can't take his eyes off her. He doesn't deserve her, this incredible, _incredible_ woman who's broken into his life tearing down walls with unsuspected grace; he wouldn't know what to do, now, if he had to go back to things as they used to be, to a world when he was on his own and had nothing but himself.

“I will,” he promises, earning a wink from Cara that ignites something raw and fierce deep inside him. She's barely clothed, her legs and arms bare, a strip of her abdomen exposed where the top rolled up around her hips. The way she looks at him tells him she knows exactly what he's thinking.

He can see the wicked pleasure she takes in leaning against him to whisper into his ear:

“Good.”


	2. Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Din and Cara really can't keep their hands off each other any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split this installment so that it would be easier to read, but it still came out ridiculously long. I'm so sorry.

They're sitting on the floor of Cara's room.

She's fresh out of the shower, her damp hair dripping droplets on her neck, dotting the light fabric of her robe. She carries the scent of shower oils and a tinge of sweat lingers on her skin, still hot from the workout. She has her legs bent up, elbows on her knees, the robe pooling around her waist to leave her thighs distractingly bare. Din wonders, not entirely consciously, if she's aware of how seeing her like this makes him feel.

“So,” he begins, just an excuse to give himself something else to think about. “Carasynthia, uh?”

Cara's head snaps toward him and he almost forgets the helmet is concealing his impish grin.

“Who told you? Wait.” Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Kriffing Kaunis.”

“She was just-”

“I don’t give a damn what _she was just._ If I hear you utter that stupid name again, you’re a dead man, Djarin.”

He tries – tries really hard – not to notice how her knees have slid sideways in a very feminine pose Cara would probably lose, if she was aware of it. So he says nothing.

He stretches his legs ahead, crosses his ankles. “I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine.”

The mortified face she makes is priceless.

“I would never use your name against you!”

“I know,” he smiles. A smile she can't see. Can she feel it, though? “I’ll make it up to you.”

Cara's hand lies next to Din's leg on the floor. He senses a twitch in her fingers.

“Is that a promise?” she asks.

He turns, a bit taken aback by the implicit provocation in her tone, and he can tell, by how pointedly she's leaning toward him, that she can indeed feel his smile. It gives him a boldness he didn't know he had; he moves his hand upon hers, dares a light stroke of his fingertips up to her wrist.

“Do you want it to be?”

Cara licks her lips, uselessly trying to hold back a smile that her dimples betray. Her voice is husky when she says: “I’ll let you know.”

She's still irradiating heat like she's on fire. Din's reason is dimming, something he isn't quite used to. It's getting hard to breathe under the weight of the Beskar; his lungs demand air as much as his body demands to erase these few inches between him and Cara, wipe away the distance with a swing of his arm around her waist to pull her to his lap and... and...

Din feels like he might suffocate in this sensorial overload.

“These lights are too bright,” he chokes out, and for a moment he thinks his brain is failing him, because the lights are the last of his problems; then he realises – realises what his subconscious is asking, what he's actually craving, and feels a blush crawl up to his cheeks when Cara laughs.

“Yeah, they must be unbearable through the filters of your visor.” She looks at him, and he doesn't move, doesn't speak. He just lets his hand tighten his grip upon hers, and Cara understands. “Maybe we should-”

Yes. _Yes._

“Maybe we should.”

They stand up like it's someone else moving them, never leaving each other's eyes. Cara turns out the lights, but the city below shines like a thousands suns. Then Cara presses another button, and the glasses black out, the room falling into a pitch-black darkness. A safe, liberating darkness.

“Are you sure-” she starts asking, but Din has already grabbed his helmet and hears Cara suck in a breath when the familiar thud of the helmet being put down fills the space around them.

“We've been here before, haven't we?” he whispers as he grabs her elbows to draw her closer. “I was sure then. I'm sure now.”

Cara doesn't need to be told twice.

It's like she was dying to do this – not just in the last few minutes, but for days, maybe weeks. He shivers, and perhaps he was dying for this, too.

Her fingers spread out to his jaw, then his cheeks, and his cheekbones, like they used to do when she was blind and would follow his features like a map she needed to commit to memory. There's a heartbreaking softness in this – this intimate silence, this cautiousness in how she touches him, savours him. Din runs his hands up her arms, lingering on the long scar on her left forearm as if this is the last time he gets to reach it – to _feel_ it – before it disappears again beneath her vambrace. His fingers close around her wrists as he rests his forehead upon hers with a weary sigh. He shouldn't have.

It brings back memories of when he was last so close to somebody – in his father's and mother's arms, moments before they were killed. This is the only shred of physical affection he has printed in his memory – a goodbye, a cry on a death bed – and what does he have to offer to a woman like this, a creature of raw power and fire? His patched up soul? Love in the dark?

“I'm sorry this is all I can give you.”

Cara's touch stiffens.

“Stop,” she hisses. Din can't tell if she sounds angry or sad. “Stop that, just- Stop. Don't you dare apologise for _this.”_ The tip of her nose skims his while her thumbs dig into the sides of his neck. “ _This_ is you. I don't need anything else.”

Din can't breathe again, and this time it's not because of the lack of air.

Cara's words, her complete acceptance... they're wonderful. And maybe this is why they hurt so much.

Strange combination, the two of them, he muses as her caresses resume – a pair of old fools who gravitate around each other careful as wounded animals, trying to get used to giving and receiving love.

Cara's breath is warm over his mouth as she says: “Trust me with this, okay?”

Din takes the hand she's resting against his cheek, squeezes it lightly.

“Okay.”

He complies when she pushes him backwards, until his calves bump into the edge of the bed. So Cara pushes him down to sit, then, without a word, straddles his lap, one knee on each side of him, and gently cups her hands around his neck.

Din wants to touch her but doesn't know how far he can get.

“Can I-”

“Don't,” Cara whispers. “Don't ask.” Her voice deepens, thickens. “There's no need to.”

They're so close that Din can _feel_ her smile as she takes his hesitating arms and folds them around her waist. She's warm and beautifully soft.

He allows his fingers to splay over the small of her back, her flesh burning on his skin through the thin fabric of her robe. She sighs under his touch, her thighs clenching at his sides, and leans against him to let his hands roam further, up to her shoulder blades and down her flanks and up again over her abdomen. Din is mesmerised by how wonderful she feels. He stops just above her hips, his thumbs stroking her ribs, and wonders how long he can keep this up before she tires of his pathetic amazement.

“This must be weird to you.”

It's not meant to be an apology but it sounds like one.

Cara's hands slide up his chest to lock behind his neck, fingers tangling though his hair.

“What?” she inquires defiantly. “You wanting to take your time explore something new? Yeah, _so_ weird.”

He's never done this before – granting himself the time and the luxury of discovering another person, the planes and curves of someone else's body. He looks at Cara, gorgeous and tempting, waiting for him to move, ever so patiently, and all he wants is to touch her, feel her, map out the lines of her head to toe, every inch, every crook.

“I'm not sure what you're expecting from this.”

“Expecting?” He knows by her tone that she's frowning. “You got it all wrong, man: all I want is to be with you again without that thing on your head. No, wait. I'm sorry,” she adds hastily. “I didn't mean-”

“I understand what you mean.”

He feels a surge of heart-wrenching fondness for her, for what she's offering him without a single condition. She knows he can only give her so little of himself, and yet she's here, letting him have all of her – every weakness, every strength, all for him to take and treasure as his own. And if this isn't love, he doesn't know what else love could be. And still a part of him, cruel – or cruelly sensible, reminds him he doesn't have any right to arrogate this to himself: if Cara does love him, it's up to her to tell him – how and when and _if._

He doesn't want to think about _if._

Humming, he pushes her hair out of the way, tracing his fingers down the length of her face like she used to do with him when she couldn't see and wanted – needed, perhaps – to see him. He understands, now, the fascination, almost morbid, that would draw her to him in the middle of her darkness, hungry for something she could only shape in her mind, and was still happy with.

He wants to learn her the way she learned him, get her under his skin, never to let go. He's observed her beauty with his eyes, but this tactile discovery introduces him to shades of this beauty he had no access to before: contours of scars standing out jagged and thick all across the smoothness of her skin; the thin hairs rising on her arms in the wake of his caresses; the vibrant, crushing seduction of the clench of her muscles around his hips...

It's agony.

It's bliss.

“How long do you think we have before they come looking for us?” Cara murmurs, her fingers combing lazily through his hair.

“Not long enough.”

“How long is long enough?”

“I don't know. Three days?”

They both start shaking with a quiet laugh, buried in each other's arms, and it's amazing how simple everything suddenly seems, how natural.

There's not enough time, now, but there will be. There's no rush.

After dinner, when Din wishes her good night with the kid slumbering on his shoulder, Cara's black eyes gaze at him with a mute question, and Din can only wish he were strong enough, both physically and emotionally, to do the honourable thing and just walk away. But he isn't.

He lets Cara drag him into her room and this is how they spend the night: curled up in bed facing each other, the baby snoring peacefully between them.

It's good, so good it hurts.

So, Din thinks, it must be true.

  
  


*

  
  


A couple of days later, Kaunis has organised a banquet with a handful of guests, and Din can't see the point in attending, since he can't eat or drink in front of people, and Cara, too, has largely complained about her utter lack of enthusiasm about the event.

“I'll tell you what: we go in there, grab some stuff and lock ourselves up somewhere to eat,” she said, and the idea was alluring, but now it's almost time for them to show up and Cara is nowhere to be found. He's just started wondering if she has changed her mind and decided to hide somewhere without telling him, when the doors of the elevator at the end of the atrium hiss open.

He doesn't recognise her at once. Maybe because she's wearing a _dress._

It's not an elaborate one: simple cut, neat lines, waves of white with just a black ribbon around her waist. She doesn't even look that much different from usual, but this dress – and Din has Kaunis to thank for this – shows off her body without constrictions, the soft fabric flowing all over the soft hourglass of her shape in a way that makes Din's head dizzy and stupidly empty. And it's not like he hasn't seen her with much less clothing than this, but somehow this sight is something else.

He gulps.

What sort of warrior is he if a simple dress can render him useless in less than a blink?

 _It's not the dress,_ he tells himself. _It's the one who's wearing it._

She smiles before he utters a single sound, because his silence is more eloquent that whatever words he can't seem to be able to speak. If she could see how he's gaping at her under his helmet, she would either blush or slap him. Likely both.

“So?”

“So what?”

Cara plants her hands on her hips – a mistake, because her bare arms allow a distracting view on her flexing biceps.

“Aren't you gonna tell me I look beautiful?”

Din's mouth is uncomfortably dry.

“You always look beautiful,” he says, like an idiot, before he can apply a filter to what his mind is suggesting. Apparently, cocky as it is, it was the right thing to say, because Cara shrugs off her martial demeanour to jab an elbow in his ribs.

“Nice save.”

“It wasn't-”

“I know,” she smirks. “I was just teasing.”

“I like what you've done with that,” he comments as they head down the hall, nodding at the pearls that have been threaded through the length of her braid. He's not even sure they're going in the right direction. It doesn't really matter. “I thought Kaunis was going to give you a different hairstyle.”

Cara makes a dismissive gesture. “She wanted to but- This braid means something to me. I can't just... lose it.”

“Braids are never just braids for an Alderaanian, are they?”

Cara stops. There's a waterfall, instead of a wall, running from one end to the corridor to the other. The sound of it still isn't enough to swallow the loudness of her thoughts. She absently raises a hand to the left side of her head.

“Having one here – on the heart's side,” she mutters. “Is like wearing a ring on your finger. If anyone from Alderaan saw this braid, they'd know at once I'm taken. Or,” she gives him a cautious look. “Emotionally unavailable.”

Din might be wrong, but he's under the impression that Cara is allowing him to scratch the surface of something bigger than she's letting on.

“Which one of the two?”

“Used to be the latter. I guess a status update is required, now?”

“I guess it is.”

His chest throbs with pride. He wishes he had something like that for her, something he could wear to remind her and everyone that they belong together.

“Should we braid my hair, too?” he suggests, cracking a giggle from Cara.

“We could try.”

Din's fantasy about her laughing as she tries to braid his hair vanishes when he notices her blue look, lost somewhere far, far away.

There's a bench by the waterfall; he sits down, waits for Cara to sit beside him, then says: “Tell me about her.”

It's _her_ – has to be _her._ The one Cara mentioned before she nearly died in his arms. The romantic tragedy.

“She was...” Cara begins, but then trails off, her brows twitching in dismay, as if she can't find the right words to put together. In the end, she just mumbles: “Her name was Vesi.”

“Twi'lek?”

“Yeah. I loved her, she loved me, but… we never got to be together. She was a very dark person, but genuinely good, you know? And kind. Always did her best to keep her darkness from spilling on other people. She was a lot like you: big heart scarred by one too many losses. Which was probably why she didn’t deal well with feelings. This braid... she did it to me before I left Alderaan. Then she kissed me – only kiss I ever got from her – and made me promise to come back in one piece. But when it was time for me to go back, there was no home to return to.”

“I'm sorry.”

She shrugs. Din had no idea a mere shrug could look so broken.

“I've moved on. We had so many chances to be happy together and she let her fear destroy them all. Life is too short to waste it waiting for someone who'll never come to you.”

“You still love her, though.”

He hopes she knows he's not accusing her. She's smart, she probably does.

“I never had any sort of closure, you know? I left when we were stalling on a borderline between more than friends and... I don't even know. We could have been a lot of things. Everything fell apart before we had a chance to sort things out.”

“It must be hard to live with such a painful regret.”

“With time, I accepted it wasn’t my fault, though it took me years to come to terms with it. You can’t blame your misery on a dead woman.”

“Survivor’s guilt.”

“Something like that.” Cara sighs. “I'm sure she was ready to take the next step once I got back, but- I didn’t even say goodbye.” He hates how her voice cracks, hates the sorrow it conveys. “I left with an _almost_ and ended up with a _never._ I won’t take this chance again.”

Din takes her hand, holds it tight. “Good.”

She's baring herself for him, exposing her fragility, and it's not because of the dress and the pearls in her hair if he can't stop thinking she's never looked so beautiful.

“After Alderaan was destroyed,” she begins after a long pause, her voice catching in her throat a little. “I had nothing. I didn't exactly _want_ to die, but I-”

“Had nothing to live for.”

Cara nods feebly. “All I had was my thirst for revenge, and that sort of stuff consumes you inside. I was alive out of spite, just because I felt-” She trails off with a light shake of her head. “It sounds so stupid, now.”

But Din knows what she's talking about. He knows it so well it's etched into every fibre of his being.

“You felt you were keeping the ones you lost alive in your memory.” Cara's head snaps up. “It's not stupid,” he argues, and gives her hand a squeeze. “We all feel like that.”

His words carve their way into her; slowly, her posture loses most of her tension.

“Revenge isn't a purpose, it's... an anaesthetic. It just makes you forget for a while that you lost everything you cared about. I felt like a slave to my own grief, and I felt like that for a long, long time. Then I met this guy and his green baby and things just... spiralled out of control. In the best way.”

“Sounds like you really like this guy.”

Something sparks in her eyes, and, for once, he finds out he's the one who can read her a little too well.

_She wants to kiss me._

He's never cursed his helmet as much as he has in the last few days.

“He has his moments,” she concedes, then bumps her shoulder into his. “We're a good match.”

“We are.”

“Yeah?” Cara arches her brows at him. “Because I feel like we’re still tiptoeing over thin ice, here.”

Din is really _trying._ It's all new to him, all uncharted territory he's wandering without knowing what he's doing, and trial and error has never really been his tactic of choice.

“I'm... coping. We were about to go all over your story again. I still haven’t been able to shake off the feeling of your lifeless body in my arms.”

Cara shifts closer to him. The movement makes her dress slip off her shoulder.

“Not exactly lifeless, though?”

“As far as I knew, you were gone.”

Cara inhales deeply, gives him a slow nod.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

There is genuine regret in how she sighs it out; it makes Din feel guilty for bringing it up. It wasn't Cara's fault she got hurt, after all.

“I was on my own for a long time,” he explains, or attempts to. “I didn't know what caring for someone else meant. Then I found the kid. And then I found you. I'm not used to having something to lose. It's... unsettling.”

Cara leans her head against his shoulder, their hands still laced together. The banquet is forgotten, and Kaunis will forgive them if they don't grace her guests with their presence.

Din hopes Cara will get what he means when he whispers: “I just wish you weren't so... vulnerable.”

After a few seconds, he feels her hand on his breastbone.

“You're protected by this armour and I still worry,” she considers with a distant, pensive expression. “Can't imagine what it'd be like if you didn't have this.” The intensity of her gaze petrifies him. “That's the problem, isn't it? You worry about me.”

He does.

He does, all the time. Worries. Worries that the ones he loves are safe. Worries that this sort of reverie they're living in might come to an end too soon, too fast, and only now realises that any given time will be too soon and too fast. What he has gained – this family, this home of three souls – he doesn't want to give up, for anything in the world.

“Yes,” he admits, and covers her hand upon his breastbone with his own. “I would give this up to you, if I could.”

“And you know I wouldn't take it.”

“No, you wouldn't. Not even for my own sake.”

“That is probably the one thing I wouldn't do for your own sake,” Cara informs him. There is still that look in her eyes, the one that screams for a kiss. He's not sure he can resist it for much longer.

And Cara, being the skilled mind-reader she is, doesn't bother to pretend she's not feeling, this too.

“So, do you think we'll be missed if we skip the party?”

“Don't tempt me,” he warns as her hand starts descending down his torso.

She cranes her neck to press her lips to his helmet, somewhere along his jawline.

“It's not temptation if you never meant to resist it in the first place.”

This, he guesses, is the real extraordinary thing about Cara Dune: she can make him laugh. And it's such a natural and effortless talent, even in such tense moments, that he thinks maybe they were born for this – finding each other, mending together all the broken they both bear inside.

“Can't argue such a flawless logic.”

He doesn't know how they end up tumbling into the first room they come across – a small parlour, by the amount of armchairs they knock into. There are no windows and they don't waste any time looking for the lights. The carpet cushions the fall of Din's helmet to the floor. He's glad the rest of his armour lies in his room.

He fumbles in the absolute darkness, groping the air for Cara. She finds him first, her hands immediately seeking for his face.

“The burn healed well,” she notes, stroking his cheek, then her fingers move to the middle of his face. “Too bad there's nothing we can do about this nose.”

“This sharp tongue of yours is not getting you anywhere, Dune,” he rasps, spectacularly contradicting himself.

“You have no idea what my tongue can do, _Djarin.”_

Din's trousers feel impossibly tight. He looks for a clever retort, but whatever he intended to say is swept away by the feather brush of Cara's fingertips upon his lips – to seal them, at first, then tracing their outline with surgical attention, her breath so close that she's all the air he's breathing.

And then the world stops, because Cara is kissing him, and Din can't even remember how to breathe.

Her lips are soft, just like he imagined them, but the kiss is hungrier and more demanding than he could have dreamed of. He grabs her hips to pull her close to him, inhaling the scent of soap and nightblossom of her skin, and before he knows his hands are roaming south, the firm roundness of her bottom sending a shock of pleasure down his spine. She lets out a moan of approval and dives deeper into the kiss, touching his face like she can't get enough of it, like she didn't know it by heart, already. And then her kisses move to his jawline, to his neck, and the growing arousal almost drives Din insane.

He needs contact, too, craves it like a drowning man craves oxygen. His movements are experimental and purely instinctual, driven by need and observation rather then technique. It works in spite of his insecurity, and Cara's shudders, her nails in his back, reward him more than words ever could.

Blind with pleasure, he palms the length of her thighs, breathes her as he kisses her, hungry and desperate, and her moans fuel his boldness; his hands venture up to her abdomen, across her ribs, searching, yearning, and Cara grabs them – to stop him, he thinks. She guides him under her dress, instead, and with her free hand gets rid of the ribbon around her waist. Fire flares at the pit of Din's stomach when he strokes the breath-taking softness of the small of her back. Cara squirms, arches into his touch, sighing low in her throat, a sound so beautiful and enticing his head starts spinning, a feeling similar to drunkenness, only deeper, rawer, fiercer. _New._

If he wants Cara to enjoy this, he needs to listen and pay attention, adapt his moves according to her responses. He's never needed – _wanted_ to please someone else, before. His experiences with sex so far have been all about satisfying his own need, pursuing his own pleasure – the scratch of an annoying itch rather than an act of intimacy – and now he realises how this left him incomplete, lacking the awareness of what his touch can do to another. It never mattered, before. He knows why, now: he never had someone he cared about to share this with. Who could have imagined how different this would feel – how _good_ – with someone he loves trembling in his arms?

“Don't stop,” she pleads, sensing his hesitation. “Don't you dare-”

“I wasn't going to-”

He cackles when she impatiently yanks his shirt out of his pants, trying to follow with his senses the frantic trails of her caresses over his back, on his torso, but she's too quick, too greedy, and catching up with her is tough when he's so distracted by the maddening feeling of her breasts pressing against his chest.

His mind blacks out. He pushes the dress up her legs, runs a hand across her flank and down, between her thighs, and groans in anticipation when he finds her hot and wet through the thin layer of her underwear.

She sinks down into his touch, seeking friction, which he happily provides, allowing his fingers to stroke more eagerly, rubbing right there where he gets the most intense reactions until he feels her legs quiver.

Cara holds onto his shoulders, a leg swung over his flank, their faces pressed nose to nose, breaking into a grin that gets smothered by a chocked gasp when he finds just the right spot.

“I need-”

“I know,” he pants. “Me, too.”

All he can coherently think right now is how achingly he's longing to bury his face between these thighs and take everything he can, drive Cara and himself over the edge and collapse to the floor, spent and satisfied.

Cara bites into his neck to stifle the cry she exhales into his ear, loud and hoarse and breathless, and finding her like this, trembling at his mercy, is the most addictive thrill he's ever experienced. He's so intoxicated by the overwhelming feeling of having her in his arms – writhing, moaning, burning – that he can't even remember his own name.

“Shouldn't we-” he rasps, whimpering as Cara presses her hips to his hardening groin. His head hits the wall behind him in wonderful surrender. He sighs, but he's grinning. “- slow down?”

Cara sighs, too, sucking a bruise just above his collarbone, one hand cupping his head, the other clawing at his shirt as if she wanted to rip it away.

“No way,” she pants, seizing him by the collar to draw him back to her. “You got me all worked up, here,” she whispers upon his lips, making his hard-on throb without any dignity. “You better finish what you started, Mando.”

He feels her tongue trace a wet line below his ear, and it's too much, too sudden. The only touch he's used to is his own, and what Cara is doing to him right now is wiping away his reason, burning his self-control into a pile of sorry ashes. He doesn't care about anything else: _he wants her._

“I was hoping you'd say that,” he mutters as he captures her into his arms to flip their positions, pushing her into the wall. He pins her down with his whole body, his hands slipping under her dress again to meet the imperfect silk of her scarred skin. She's soft and hot and a temptation too sweet to resist. He wouldn't resist her, even if he could.

His hand has just started sliding its way below the waistline of her underwear when a knock of the door jerks him out of his lustful haze.

“Excuse me Master? Mistress?” calls IG's professional voice. “The child requires your attention.”

Din exhales a frustrated groan. “Whose attention?”

“Both of you.”

His forehead falls against Cara's as they slump, panting. Then, for no absolute reason in the world, they both break out into a hearty laughter that shakes them until they collapse to the floor, still tangled in each other and wonderfully dizzy, and they just sit there, laughing and laughing and laughing until they can finally breathe again.

“Just- give us a minute.”

“This side of parenting really sucks,” whines Cara, but he can sense the stretch of a big smile where her lips touch his skin. He can only picture her eyes, beautifully ablaze with arousal. He wishes he could see her in the light, flushed and dishevelled, likely the most beautiful sight he would ever have the pleasure to admire.

Maybe... maybe one day.

“I think,” he heaves. “We need to establish some ground rules with the nanny.”

Cara buries her face into his neck as she starts laughing again.

Din doesn't even care if they were interrupted before anything actually happened and he's still hot and painfully hard. Despite everything, he thanks the stars he lived long enough to have this.

“This doesn't end here,” he promises.

Still grinning, Cara presses a kiss to his neck.

“I know.”

*

They leave, two days later.

Cara bursts into the parlour without troubling to announce herself. She drops the dress into the first armchair she finds, then sets her chin and walks straight toward Kaunis.

“Judging by the state of that dress,” Kaunis remarks with a sly chuckle. “I'd say you and my dear Din have finally... _settled your issues.”_

Cara has no time to waste on platitudes, especially if their regard her and Din's sex affairs. Which, incidentally, Kaunis would probably find _very_ interesting. She's definitely going to miss the glorious size of the beds of this mansion.

“I’m taking the Beskar,” she announces, flat and unceremonious. “Not for myself. I’m only doing it for-”

“For him. Yes, I know.”

“And the kid. That little green bean seems to have grown fond of me.”

Cara has never taken charity from anyone and she isn't going to start now. The only reason why she's here is that, by protecting herself, she is protecting the ones she loves, and this is way more important than her own pride. She would crawl on her knees and kiss any Imp's lousy feet if that meant keeping Din and Bean safe. If she's willing to do that, she can sure as hell accept a generous gift from a disgustingly rich friend.

“Inexplicable, really.” Kaunis sits back on her desk and smiles. With one foot she pushes forward a case that, Cara guess, already contains what she came here for.

“I'm glad Din found you, Cara. You’re worth every ounce of what he feels for you.”

Cara grants her a wry smile. “No, I’m not. Thank you for this,” she adds, jerking her chin toward the case. “I'll find a way to pay you back, one day. For everything.”

There is no way Kaunis's generosity can be paid back, and they both know it. Din knows it, too. She found the doctors that saved Cara's life; she gave them all shelter in a moment of dire need; she provided this armour for Cara for no other reason than her love for Din and, perhaps, a blossoming liking to Cara herself. This is a debt a whole lifetime couldn't payoff.

Kaunis waves a hand. “I don't care about money. But I'm sure we could come to an arrangement,” she says, a naughty twinkle in the look she shoots her.

Cara snorts, both flattered and amused.

“I'm not sleeping with you.”

“Pity,” Kaunis pouts.

Yes, Cara definitely likes her.

She takes the case and flings it onto her back. The Beskar feels heavier to carry than it feels to wear.

“Cara?” Kaunis calls before Cara reaches the door. “You wanna pay me back? Stay alive and safe. And take care of the helmeted idiot for me.”

Cara nods. She's glad that there is someone else who cares about Din as much as she does.

“I will.”

“You three do make a beautiful family. An unlikely one, but beautiful nonetheless.”

It's probably stupid of Cara to feel more flattered by this comment than by all the compliments Kaunis has poured upon her during her permanence here. She really is getting soft.

And then she just can't help herself. She drops the case, strides across the room before her brain can stop her, grabs Kaunis's face and drags her down into a quick, passionate kiss.

“See you, Kaunis,” she breathes, pulling away with a shit-eating grin.

The wink Kaunis sends her as she turns to leave is something Cara won't easily forget.

“See you, gorgeous.”

*

Din has just finished loading the Razor Crest with the last provisions. He's keeping an eye on the kid, wobbling around the platform to follow a sparkly ball Kaunis gave him as a goodbye present; his attention is caught by the doors at the top of the stairs opening: IG appears, carrying Cara's stuff, and, behind him, Cara herself follows, shining in the morning sun.

It's good that she can't see his mouth hanging open as soon as he notices that the shiny armour she's wearing is not her usual one but, in fact, a remarkable piece of Beskar craftsmanship.

She comes smiling toward him and he realises he can't speak.

“What?”

Din can't stop gaping in awe. All she's missing to pass for a real Mandalorian is a helmet.

“You look... beautiful.”

Cara can't even hide her smugness as she feigns an outraged glare: “All that time and effort to make me look like a lady and all it took to squeeze a compliment out of you was a little bit of Beskar?”

 _It's not the Beskar,_ Din wants to say. Or, not just the Beskar. It's _her_ wearing the Beskar, one of the symbols of his people. It makes him feel like she's marked as his: from now on, whoever sees them together will assume they are a couple. And the best part about it is that they wouldn't be wrong.

“It becomes you,” he breathes. “You look-”

“- like a proper Mandalorian bride?” she offers and Din nods. “That's what Kaunis said.”

Of course Kaunis wouldn't miss an opportunity to make such a controversial observation.

“She wasn't wrong,” he can't but agree. His attention falls on her mouth. He gestures at his own mouth as he inquires: “Is the lipstick part of the outfit?”

Cara breaks into a roguish grin that bears no trace of regret.

“I owed her some sort of thanks.”

Din looks down at the child sitting at his feet.

“Did you hear that, kid? She ditched us for the hot, rich widow.”

Scoffing, Cara picks up the baby.

“Just so you know,” she says to Din. “Me and the hot, rich widow have an understanding: if I ever tire of a certain someone, she'll be waiting for me with open arms to make a kept woman out of me.”

“Open _arms?”_

Cara's eyes widen. “There are children here!” she exclaims, dramatically covering the baby's ears with her whole arm.

There is so much he cherishes in these few inches of space, Din thinks. It's a whole world at arm's reach, his and nobody else's, and they might have built this family from scratch, but this it who they are and he wouldn't have it any other way.

“I'm glad your pride didn't stop you from accepting this.”

“The hell it didn't!” grunts Cara. “I had to kick my damn pride in its big, fat face to even try this bloody thing on. But I figured there was something more important at stake, so...”

“Thank you,” he says, because he knows what truth hides behind this gift, and he can't imagine how much it must have cost her to step over her principles – only for him.

“Don't look at me like that,” she warns. She's bouncing the baby as he plays with her hair and, honestly, how else is Din supposed to look at her if not in pure, complete adoration?

“Like what?”

“Like I'm the most wonderful thing you've ever seen.”

“How do you-” Whatever. Why does he even still ask?

“Now you're blushing. Cute,” she teases, and if she's just taking guesses, she's guessing damn right.

“Get into the ship, Dune. It's too early in the morning to put up with your snark.”

Any attempt of Din's to sound threatening miserably fails when Cara, the kid peeking up from her shoulder, obediently does as said and starts climbing the ramp with a deliberate swing of her hips that is going to haunt Din's dreams for a very, very long while.

He stalks up after her, enjoying every second of the view. The kid lets out a little giggle, waves a tiny hand at him from Cara's shoulder.

After the ramp closes behind him, he heads for the cockpit and finds Cara and the baby already waiting for him.

His hand brushes her side as he passes her; he feels her touch on the small of his back right before he sits down and readies the ship for take off.

Space feels so much bigger and scarier now that he has someone to share it with.

But it doesn't feel as empty as it used to, he reasons, feeling the gentle pressure of Cara's hand upon his shoulder. And definitely not as cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not remotely as good as it deserved to be. It's too long and messy as fuck, but I couldn't get myself to cut anything. I tried my best to improve the final result, but nope, still meh. This is what happens when you are writing a story with another story buzzing in your mind. Cara, Din, my loves, I'm so sorry, darlings: you and my readers deserved so much better than this sorry excuse of a chapter.
> 
> There's two more chapter to go before the end of this series and after this I have this idea for a Modern AU that I'm still figuring out, but I'm really fond of the plot and I hope I can make something good out of it.
> 
> Anyways, THANK YOU SO MUCH to every single one of your for you beautiful support! I love you all!

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like adding a little bit of Cara's POV, hope that wasn't confusing. Part two is already halfway through, so it won't take long.
> 
> Comments are love, you have no idea what a couple of words of encouragement mean to an author. ❤
> 
> To the person who begged me to keep them in character as their relationship evolves: I hope I'm not disappointing, because these two are really hard to write.
> 
> Stay tuned because sexy times are coming up! 😎


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